


Hair of the Dog: A Team Free Will 2.0 Domestic Ficlet

by 1stAmndmntGirl



Series: Team Free Will 2.0 Domestic Ficlets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1stAmndmntGirl/pseuds/1stAmndmntGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in the bunker wants a puppy. . . except Dean.</p><p>This is the second story in the Team Free Will 2.0 Domestic Series. The thingy says otherwise, but the thingy is 100% full of it. The thingy also talks crap about your mom, so you know it’s a lying liar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair of the Dog: A Team Free Will 2.0 Domestic Ficlet

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to Deeno for forcing me to write more against my will. Sorry this one isn’t long or smutty, but the next one will be, you can bank on it.

“No, Crowley, no!”

“I don’t see a pro—“

“Don’t care! Not happening!”

“But Sam said—“

“Don’t care.”

“Moose said it—“

“DON’T. CARE.”

Crowley, Cas, and Kevin glared simultaneously at Dean, who stood alone, but glared right back with his jaw set and his arms crossed over his broad, flannel-shrouded chest.

“Maybe you guys want to think this over more?” the clerk asked timidly.

In unison, both sides shouted, “NO”, sending the clerk running to the other side of the store to get away from the vicious argument brewing between the four men.

“The answer is no, and it’s final. Let’s get back to our agenda, okay? Okay.” Dean declared.

“Dean, it’s just a puppy,” Cas pleaded.

Dean scoffed. “Just a puppy? It’s an animal that eats, sleeps, craps, and chews up everything in sight. It needs to be fed regularly, and you have to play with it every day, which doesn’t really work with our line of work. We’re gone for days at a time, so what would little Fido here do without us?”

Kevin looked down at his ratty sneakers as he contemplated an argument against Dean’s. Cas’ face was screwed up in concentration as he tried to figure out what the puppy would do without their presence, and Crowley shrugged. “We can get a new one.”

Dean shook his head firmly. “No. If you get a pet, you treat it like family, not let it die and replace it. Thing is, we don’t have time to be with it all day and night, and there’s no way in hell that fleabag canine is riding in my Baby.”

 Sighing dramatically, Crowley caved. “Fine, I’ll care for Beast.”

Throwing a glance at the Schnauzer puppy Crowley had been fawning over, Dean’s eyebrow raised in amusement. “Beast? More like Dinner.”

Crowley was not pleased. His lip curled up at the edge, and he looked like he was going to shout some serious unpleasantries. Then, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, he tried again. “Winchester, I would like to purchase this puppy. I will feed it, bathe it, and care for it as my own. I will not kill it in a fit of rage, and I will not let it urinate on your bedspread.”

Kevin tried to hold back a snort of laughter, but it didn’t work very well.

Cas smiled warmly at his former adversary and said, “That was very nice, Crowley. I think you’re making excellent progress with your temper.”

It was obvious Crowley was barely able to prevent himself from mocking the fallen angel, but Cas didn’t see it.

Dean ran his hands through his hair. “Guys, I don’t know how we even got into this store. We’re supposed to be on a case, not dog-shopping.”

“Sam said Crowley could have a puppy, so we came in here and you followed us.” Cas stated informatively.

Kevin had recovered from his near laugh-attack, and looked at the puppy sleeping in the corner. It was as small, fluffy, and cute as any puppy could be.

“Guys, I don’t want to rain on your parade, but if you want a dog, go to a shelter. My girlfriend was in this whole vegan animal welfare group before, y’know, this,” he added a glare in Crowley’s direction for emphasis, “and she found out most of these dogs come from puppy farms. They’re totally over-priced but bound to end up in homes, whereas shelter dogs are basically free and get put down if you don’t adopt them.”

Dean swore. “We aren’t getting a dog from here or a shelter! We aren’t getting a dog, period. We don’t have time!”

“And exactly how don’t we have time, Bow-legs?” Crowley spat.

Whipping out his mighty pointer-finger, Dean first drew all eyes to Kevin. “You should be translating the tablet right now, not pet-shopping. As it is, you work for several days at a time without a break, and then sleep for a week. How will you have the time to give the dog the attention it needs?”

“And Cas, you don’t know the first thing about taking care of animals. Hell, you barely know how to work the microwave. What will you do if the dog gets sick or needs something? Buddy, you’re brand new to this, and you don’t need to have someone dependent on you for every little thing.”

Cas narrowed his blue eyes at the hunter. “Dean, if I remember correctly, I cared for you and Sam for years. Don’t underestimate me.”

Sighing heavily, Dean looked at his friend. “Man, this is a whole different kind of care. This dog isn’t going to need you to inscribe its ribs with Enochian protection spells. It’ll need you to clean its ears, wipe up its vomit, and pick up its shredded toys.”

Crowley looked at Dean triumphantly. “Oh? And what is so wrong with me that I cannot possibly care for a dog? I bred hellhounds, you know. I have some expertise in this area.”

Dean kind of forgot about that, and faltered for a minute. “Well, what did you feed your hounds?”

Crowley scoffed, “What every hound eats, of course: souls and screaming human flesh.”

Holding back a laugh, Dean motioned to the Schnauzer. “Well, this is a different kind of dog. This one eats Kibbles and Bits.”

Unsure of what “Kibbles and Bits” were, Crowley remained silent, although to his credit, he assumed it was some sort of food probably not of the human kind. He did think it was a modern euphemism for male genitalia, though, so he wasn’t too on track.

“Long story short, guys, you aren’t exactly the best group to have a dog, and to be fair, neither am I. So really, let’s just get back to the job at hand, and hunt down the damn fairies.”

 

Two days later, Dean woke to a wet, snuffling, furry thing nipping at his toes. He instantly drew up, his gun in his hand, pointed at the edge of his bed. He hit the lamp on the bedside table, and saw that his door was cracked, allowing in the faint sound of the band Muse, one of Sam’s favorites. Whipping the blanket off his bed, he found his worst nightmare: a black, furry puppy, chewing a hole into his right sock.

“CROWLEY!” he shouted, his voice scaring the puppy so bad that it yipped and tumbled off the bed, allowing the hunter to see it only had three legs.

After a moment of the puppy rustling amongst the blankets on the floor, a hesitant pair of footsteps made their way from the hallway to his door, and Dean saw the former demon without a bit of remorse or apology etched onto his face.

“So this is where you got off to, Beast,” he admonished as he picked up the little bundle of legs and fur.

“Are you fucking serious, Crowley? After the entire discussion in the pet store, you bring home the most motley looking thing you could find?” Dean snarled tiredly.

“I’m the King of Hell, Winchester. I don’t take no for an answer.”

“ _Former_ King of Hell, actually. And this is my bunker, so get that thing out of here.”

Crowley snarled. “Watch your tone, boy, or I’ll have Beast and Tomyris remove your kibbles and bits while you sleep.”

“Don’t you fuc—wait, Beast AND Tomyris? There’s more than one?”

Smirking triumphantly, Crowley scratched behind Beast’s left ear, making the dog’s one back leg wiggle and shake. “I have a breeding pair, actually.”

“Damnit! Get those damn things out of here!” Dean yelled.

Crowley’s smirk grew as he stepped out of the room. Dean flew out of bed and chased him out to the kitchen, where Sam and Kevin were playing with a white Husky puppy with one blue eye and one green. This one (assumedly a female) was laying on its back on the kitchen table, growling and wiggling as Sam scratched her belly and Kevin bopped her nose.

They both looked up at the extremely annoyed older Winchester as he stormed through the doorway in a pair of boxer-briefs and some socks, his chest bare. The song changed from Muse to Bad Company, as if in effort to appease their pissed off roommate.

“Dean, um, hi,” Sam tried awkwardly.

Shaking his head once, his older brother replied, “Sammy, no.”

Sam shut up and went back to playing with the dog. Kevin sat awkwardly, no longer bopping the puppy’s snout, but instead, staring at the mass of papers and the tablet he had been working on prior to the puppy’s arrival. “So, I’m gonna get back to work. If you need me, Sam, I’ll be in the library.” He gathered everything up in a pile, grabbed the tablet, and all but ran out of the room.

           

“Where is that bastard.” Dean demanded, not asked.

“Hello Dean. Who are you referring to as a bastard?” Cas asked as he walked in the room, his upper body brushing by Dean as he slid through the narrow gap between Dean and the wall.

Holding back a shudder, Dean looked at his sleepy-eyed friend, who desperately needed to learn how to use a comb. Cas gravitated straight to the coffee pot, and poured himself a strong cup, then leaned against the counter and downed half of the coffee in one gulp.

Clearing his throat, Dean replied, “Crowley. He brought two fleabags into my bunker.

“Oh. I thought he had decided not to?”

Scowling, Dean muttered, “Apparently not.”

Sam sighed and picked the puppy up into his long arms, where she fussed and mewled until he resumed the belly scratching. “Dean, they’re just dogs. It’s fine. He’s going to take care of them.”

Turning his extremely annoyed gaze to Sam, Dean responded, “Oh really? Crowley’s gonna take care of them? And since when is Crowley to be trusted with anything? Last time I checked, he was a moody demon-turned-human who threatens to flay us alive if we so much as forget to buy his Fruity Pebbles when we go to the store. How is he gonna care for one dog, let alone two?”

“Unlike you, Winchester, I like animals. In fact, I like them much more than humans. They’re loyal, obedient, predictable, and they don’t talk back.” Crowley remarked from behind him.

Dean spun, and there he stood in all of his smug glory, the maimed black puppy sleeping in his arms, as if the voice of Paul Rogers lulled him to sleep. Dean would never admit it, but the puppy was kind of cute. Barely, though.

“How did you get those here? We’re miles from the nearest town, and when I crashed out around five, there were no dogs in the bunker.”

Smiling down at the furry thing he held, Crowley replied, “Moose and I went to the shelter.”

Dean almost hyperventilated at the thought of them taking Baby to go pick up stray dogs at the shelter. “In Baby? YOU TOOK BABY?” he roared, seeing red at the thought of scratched leather, pee on the floor, or worse: dog hair.

Both of the pups perked up at his voice, and the music over the intercom changed to some Peruvian pan flute crap that could only belong to Cas, as the former angel stood at the counter, swaying side-to-side peacefully with the music.

“Chill, Dean. We took one of the cars from the garage. Some early fifties Cadillac or something. There is no dog hair in your Baby, I promise.” Sam soothed, standing with the wriggling puppy in his grip.

Dean knew the exact car they were talking about, and it still hurt him to think of all the dog hair in that beautiful car, but at least it wasn’t Baby. His heart was still racing with panic, but he was able to breathe a bit easier. A bit.

“No. No dogs. Get them out by the time I wake up in a few hours.”

He turned to walk out, but in unison, everyone stated, “No.”

Spinning around, he glared at the three men in the kitchen. “No dogs in the bunker, and that’s final.”

Chuckling, Sam replied, “Dean, the dogs are staying. Between the four of us, we can take care of two dogs. We’ll even get a baby gate so they stay out of your room.”

“Sammy, no. We don’t have ti—“

“Dean,” Sam interrupted, “we have time for a pair of dogs. It’s fine. You should calm down.”

Shaking his head sharply, again, Dean said, “No. We don’t have time, and you’ll never be able to get rid of all the hair.”

“That’s what a vacuum’s for, Dean.”

“No.”

Cas pushed off the counter and came closer, his t-shirt (stolen from Dean) and his pajama pants (also stolen from Dean) hanging loosely from his narrow, yet muscular frame. He’d taken up running since he became human, and he was growing strong with lean muscle. Apparently, he hadn’t been out today because of the forecasted rain.

Dean was barely able to pull his eyes away from Cas by the time he started speaking. “If a vote is to be the deciding factor, the dogs stay. Everyone but you likes them, Dean, and I have a feeling you do, too, even if you won’t admit it.”

Annoyed, tired, and so not up for this, Dean growled and spun around, narrowly missing Crowley’s elbow as he strode past and shouted, “Why the fuck does everyone have to live in my damned bunker?”


End file.
